


Of androids and boredom

by Iluvfanfic



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Innocent Connor, Mentions of songs, Oh wow whered you come from, Some angst, androids are still slaves here bro., before freedom, bryan dechart?, connor is a clueless boi, definitely crack, headcanons, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 12:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iluvfanfic/pseuds/Iluvfanfic
Summary: Androids can't sleep; it's something nobody had programmed into them. It was inefficient and time consuming, so they are programmed to stay awake in bleak hours.But, What do they do when they have nothing to do at times like these?Connor is a curious bean, and shenanigans ensue.(Androids aren't free here bro)(Rated T for cursing, because Hank deserves his own warning.)





	Of androids and boredom

Connor couldn’t rest.

Androids never really slept, instead going into a form of stasis. This was useful, usually going through old cached data, running diagnostics, even doing papers and updates.

But..

He had already done all of that.

Despite everything he did, nothing could satiate his immense boredom.

Sitting on the weathered sofa, he closed his eyes in an attempt to find any updates or system checks that may have been forgotten, though he was definitely fooling himself in thinking that. Of course, there was nothing to be found, and he was updated to peak perfection.

It was really just refinement of motor controls and such, which was gratifying; he was a state of the art model, yet the more precise parts of his programming were getting slightly dulled, especially after chasing Rupert.

He was a police model, he wasn't built for parkour.

Hank had urged Connor to stay inside for the night, it was pouring bullets and the nearest Cyberlife station was miles away.

_“I am fully waterproof, Hank. I do not get sick or cold.”_

_“Yeah, yeah. Tell me all that bullshit when we get home, Connor.” Hank waved it off._

So that’s  how a 2.5 million dollar android was sitting on an old, musky reclining sofa.

Having nothing else to do, he scanned it.

[Query://Scan/?/__}

[Results: 20 different allergens, including dust, pet hair, dander, pollen, peanut butter..]

For some reason, Connor didn’t have the patience to read through them all, though he could scroll through more than 400 case files in less than a minute.

His leg bounced restlessly, a tic he never managed to understand. Why would Cyberlife give him such a meaningless piece of programming?

Well.. at least it was soothing, he supposed. Though his coin was worlds better.

But.. He can’t tell. He isn’t programmed to.

Connor decided to stare at the ceiling, counting every single tile in the room. 60. He counted every single imperfection in the ceiling tiles. 402. Including the occasional dab of cheese fizz.

He scanned the fizz; only 25% was actual cheese, and it wasn’t even cheddar, also loaded with preservatives and a few carcinogens.

He would have to advise Hank later then. 

This was boring. Humans weren’t like androids, they can black out for a chunk of their day, but androids never could do so.

Even child model androids, which were made to simulate children almost flawlessly, often just studied and compiled their owner’s tastes and updated their personas to fit that description while they 'slept'

Connor couldn’t help but let out an amused huff; child model androids had special contacts to the police department that handled things like child abuse.

It was surprising how nobody noticed the decrease in pedophilia, but its better nobody knew.

Strangely enough, deviated child models lost these functions along with their trackers. 

Connor looked around, scanning every figure in Hank’s living room. He also had a small IPod.

[Discontinued: March 31st of 2023]

Curiosity took the best of him, so he decided to inspect it further. In the IPod was a collection of songs; all related to robots.

Wasn’t he very adverse to androids though?

The back of the IPod had a small name written down, identified as Hanks chicken scra—er, handwriting.

“FUCKINGPLAYLIST”

Of course.

Connor removed the skin on his hand and connected to the device, listening to the first song.

“Titanium- By Madilyn S.”

Listening to the melancholy music was a huge change from Hank’s new taste in music. While his other song choices are loud, energetic and boisterous, this was soft, muted, and.. relatable.

The song denoted detachment, the feeling of having nothing to lose even if something happens, it hit too close to home.

It didn’t help that his structural frame was made of a compressed titanium alloy.

The next song seemed okay, Connor supposed.

The music played, it seemed cheery as well, guitar strings strummed in tune to the rhythm.

‘I built a friend.. with three pieces of plastic and a pen..”

This song was also depressing.

An old robot committing suicide over the depressive thought of being replaced and forgotten.

‘Obsolete.  Outdated. Outmoded.’

Perhaps this is how Daniel felt; that feeling of worthlessness. That no matter what happens, you will be replaced and forgotten, left to rot in an android mass grave known as a landfill.

His pump felt like lead against his steel frame, every beat gave him a pang that made his internal components feel ten times heavier. He wasn’t breathing.

He didn’t need to breathe.

He’s fine.

He won’t be replaced.

He didn’t see them assembling a new model of hi—no.. no.

Not now.

He is fine.

He is feeling fine.

No, he isn’t feeling. He is _simulating_ distress.

Stress levels: 65%

His LED felt like it was burning, touch sensors flaring at the area like it was stabbed. The stress picked up, his thirium pump was beating more fluid to his biocomponents; a fight or flight response in case of danger.

He tried breathing in some labored breaths, trying to aerate his systems. It felt like the pressure of his air-tight chest was caving in on itself.

[Initiate self-scan]

It was 3 AM. Connor needed the lieutenant up and early for later on in the day.

The playlist. Was. On. Auto-play.

“I can’t fix you”

Connor turned off the IPod with shaky hands- no, why is he shaking?

The scan he had long since requested had finally come back.

[Motor functions unstable. Solution: reset them manually.]

Connor took a deep breath, not even noticing his leg bouncing so much the wood creaked wearily.

  
Pulling up his pant leg, he pressed a small button under his knee, pulling and pushing safety latches to remove the part.

Inspecting it closer, there was nothing wrong with the biocomponent. Perhaps he could find a technician to remove the tic though, it was very annoying.

(Keep lying to yourself.)

He did so with every limb, before snapping them on one by one. The last one was his arm, which he had yet to pop back into the socket.

Stress levels: 14%

 Sumo thought it was a stick and decided to snatch it from his unsuspecting arms—well, arm.

“Shit--Sumo! No!” Said Connor, in a failed attempt to whisper-yell.

“BOOF!”

It didn’t matter what Hank said. That dog could RUN.

Chasing him around for what seemed to be hours (Spoiler, it was 10 minutes) wasn’t working either, so Connor gave up, waiting for the overgrown puppy to give him his arm back.

The way Sumo gnawed at his limb was very unsettling though. 

It was strange, seeing the internal circuitry in his arm. It glowed with a single blue LED. The only thing he ever noticed was the ‘fleshlike’ casing of gel and thirium that laid over his plastic shell. Besides, that was only when he got shot. Though he never felt pain, all of the touch sensors he was built with were very hard to ignore, buzzing at the area annoyingly.

It wasn’t really fun thinking about the processes of synthesizing flesh and hair though.

This made him curious, what else was he built with?

A small latch on his chest opened up to show his thirium pump, which was a bright blue and beating optimally. His ‘ribs’ were laced with LEDs.

Another latch opened up to his stomach, which had tons of wires and tubes. Some were for circulating thirium, others were for filtering the thirium and changing it to a lubricant for joint and motor functions.

He looked at the mirror and decided to take of his skin. He had never seen it before.

Without skin, he looked almost alien. He had never known about what he looked like without it, even when he was on the final assembly hall.

He was glad he didn’t look like Markus. This was a selfish statement, but it was nice to know he was original. Unique.

But he knew this wasn’t true either.

For some reason, he glared at the barcode on his jaw in distaste, but that sentime-simulation was gone in a millisecond.

It was 4 Am now. Connor made a mental note to wake up Hank in 3 hours and 58 minutes.

Sumo had food, but Connor had to bribe him with various treats to make him release the now scuffed arm. Placing it back with a click, it was already starting to patch up with his diagnostic program. A tingly feeling in his arm meant that thirium was now flowing well into the limb, so he focused on…

Oh.

He still needed something to do.

Connor had long since read all of Hank’s books. Well, he could always find out the other mysteries of his model.

He finally realized that he had no genitals. There was smooth plastic between his legs, nothing more, nothing less.

He didn’t know what to feel about that.

Well, at least he didn’t have a… rear orifice either.

Because he was never taking it.

He even took a shower, though it was quite unpleasant to feel his touch sensors firing off with every droplet, and the Cyberlife UV cleaning stations were much more efficient.

Connor was bored yet again, reading though every case file once more. He wished he could sleep.

[Low Battery- Please recharge at the nearest Cyberlife store or charging port.]

“Oh shit.”

Connor speed-ordered the charging port; it was to arrive in a few hours or so by drone.

He had about 4 ½ hours until he goes into complete low power mode, so he was good.

Meanwhile, he decided to browse the internet.

Memes were.. strange.

Why was a cat with a facial anomaly considered funny? All these memes were just the same generic photos with words that coincided with the actual ‘joke’.

Animation memes were the same, but it was nice seeing varied ones.

The most popular one was “Dayz Mei”. Hum. A video of her progress showed just how far a human can excel with patience and practice.

Having seen all of her videos, he had nothing to do yet again.

In the meantime, he googled his original.

‘Bryan Dechart.’

It was strange, to think that one has the same face as a human. How would it feel to be him? He shared the same facial expressions, everything.

All androids were modeled by actual people. This is what made them look more human as well. They all wear special suits and sets to help program that same humanoid gait every android is capable of doing, albeit differently.

Connor looked at the photos haphazardly. It seems as though Bryan had gotten married. Good for him.

How could he smile so naturally?

An expression that truly reached his eyes in every photo.

His wife reciprocated this as well. They both seemed happy.

How is that like? Did he have a handler? No, of course not.

He then spotted a photo of Bryan in that same suit. That same hairstyle, and he looked so much more human. He looked like he fit in the world.

Connor didn’t know how to feel about this.

He felt like an extra.

He felt like a ‘mooch’, stealing someone’s face, someone’s identity. He wanted to build his own identity, his own face. He wanted to mark his own life, not just be a carbon copy of the other.

But this is how he was made. He would have to live with it.

A small flutter of a drone whirred by, and Connor just wanted to power off.

* * *

 

How was he going to do this without skyrocketing Hank’s already unpaid bills?

Well, he wouldn’t mind, right?

Connor then proceeded to pay the several unpaid electricity bills, Water bills, and parking tickets, including the oncoming bill for his recharge.

Normally, he would just go to the cyberlife stations, where they had much more advanced forms of recharging, but this would do.

This took out a small chunk of his Cryptocurrency, but who was going to use it?

He was just a second. An extra. A copy. He wasn’t original no matter how hard he tried to be.

That and he was never really materialistic. His only prized possession was his coin, really.

That, and his new charger. It was a large generator with a thick cable that was virtually universal to all androids. He hoped it could work on him as well, and thankfully it did.

Connecting it to a large port in his side, he closed his eyes, feeling the warm surge of energy and electricity flowing lazily into his battery.

There was still a knot in his chest. Like someone had stuck a large salad fork inside of his circuitry and twisted it, but hopefully he could find something to do soon. It was 5 AM.

He had finally gotten charged, it took a good 45 minutes, but he was all good and ready to go.

Looking around, Hank had a good home. The only thing was the amount of dirt clogged in literally every corner of the house.

Connor promptly disconnected himself from the Generator and downloaded a household android code. This would be very temporary, but it would benefit the investigation.

If Hank had better living quarters, there would be a 40% chance that he would be more productive with his work, and more upbeat. Just because, Connor also downloaded a small pack of Fung Shui essentials.

He had vacuumed, mopped the floors, cleaned the dust off, cleared the fridge of any mold, Changed Sumo’s water dish, fixed the bookshelf, washed the dishes, ordered necessary components for the fridge, he had scanned everything for any possible speck of dust that could have been in the home.

But he was still bored.

He organized the room to coincide with the rules of Fung Shui, while maintaining the same look of the home as it was before.

Bored.

He turned on the TV. Sports didn’t really interest him, nor should they. Lowering the volume a tad bit more, he turned on the music channel. It was set on older songs, most of them from the mid 1900’s up to songs from 2020.

Perhaps he could find something relatable to talk to Hank about?

One was rather pecuiliar; It was a black and white set, this song being from the 1900’s, but they were all saying “Hanky-Panky.”

Maybe this was a nickname of sorts?

Connor made a note to call Hank that term; befriending him  more was essential to the investigation.

The song ended with them dancing, and then a song from 2018 came out.

“Mi Gente- J Balvin, Willy..”

The music was vibrant and colorful, much like the video. It was sung in Spanish, and many people from different ethicalities were dancing in their own way, including a dance move known as twerking.

It was very intriguing, but it didn’t really seem like something Hank would listen to.

Changing the channel to more latin music, he saw what was currently playing.

“BumBum Granada”

This was very strange. These two humans were singing, but it was always shown with a cutscene of a female moving her rear.

He raised the volume.

He didn’t notice it was 7 AM.

He also didn’t notice the spectator looking at him with a dumbfounded expression.

* * *

 

Out of all the things Hank expected when he woke up, never in his entire life would he imagine Connor watching girls twerking on TV.

He got up like normal, took a shower, got dressed in ‘not so shitty’ clothes, and noticed Sumo had a very.. blue mouth..

Oh shit.

Those were the only words Hank could utter, as he sped down the halls hoping that Connor wasn’t mauled.

Damn pooch.

And then he sees it.

Connor was staring intently at the screen, where some guy was there with tons of chicks moving their hinds like nobody’s business.  
  
“Connor, what the fuck are you doing?”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow for a brief moment before glancing back at Hank with an innocent expression, tilting his head like a fucken poodle.

“Hello Hank, I have been waiting for you to wake up. Your dances are very strange.”

Hank gave Connor the ‘deadpan of death’, while Connor looked back at the tv and raised the volume some more.

Hank was just done. He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, before grabbing Connor’s arm, getting the car keys and driving them both to the station without a word.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This happens somewhere in my story, "Forgotten". I might continue this though! Please enjoy :D


End file.
